The Cous Cous Syndrome

 

The Cous Cous Syndrome

 

There’s a war on,

she’s had a baby, he’s filling in.

There’s a grinding of the secret teeth,

no maternity relief,

procrastination is not the thief –

so, my, my - smile at least.

In the secret circle of suckers

he’s holding forth,

that’s the nature of the beast –

opines ‘Gimme. Gimme bad advice

you ever had - all in the style

of Kipling’s ‘If’’. Sits back, smiles.

But, you know, silence –

they’re unsure, he’s new

and they’re missing Miss, too.

‘When’s she back?

and other ungrateful crap

designed to try the patience

of a pedagogic saint

giving up all his free time

for free. But that’s not the way,

not how it pans out in life,

your saviour the remover to remove.

‘I’ll tell you about cous cous’

says he, ‘from Tunisia,

my advice, never eat it, see?

Just my little joke, kids, sorry!’

An hour later the first complaint,

from your outraged parent,

via Chat GPT

to give it that little punch –

cuts out the thinking,

scarred forever, traumatized 

and if life was skin,

she's permanently blistered.

So, the next day, ‘Where’s Mister?”

Oh, he’s gone, war on.